


You Who Gave Me Fire

by MapleleafCameo



Series: Towards Ecstasy [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Wing!lock, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 17:12:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4188093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MapleleafCameo/pseuds/MapleleafCameo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John was kidnapped & Sherlock discovers he loves him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Who Gave Me Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Junejuly15](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Junejuly15/gifts).



> Happy birthday to my dear friend junejuly15 on June 23rd! I asked her what she’d like and she said, “I'd like to have a dangerous moment, one of them hurt, both of them madly in love and finally, finally confessing their love. You can throw in a bit of Mycroft if you like. Three words? Okay, what about: serenity, arrogance and chocolate éclair.  
> I hope wing!lock is acceptable, my friend. I tried to write it differently but the angel wouldn’t go away:D
> 
> As with the rest of this story, inspired by the music of Sarah McLauchlan. I do not own but I do like to play:)

“Where is he, Doctor Watson?”

 

“No idea.”

 

The sound of a fist hitting flesh seemed very loud in his head. He was pretty sure it wasn’t as deafening outside of it, in the small room. Pain bloomed through his eye and cheek, warm and sharp and disrupted his internal dialogue.

 

“Come now, Doctor Watson. Surely you must know. You can’t keep him. We know what he is. We know how to revere him.”

 

“Sorry, can’t help you. Seems to me you are a wee bit insane. There’s no such thing as angels.”

 

The second punch came right on top of the first. Definitely going to have a black eye then.

 

“Do not lie! We have seen! He is Other, one of the army of Heaven. Give him to us and we will let you go.”

 

John sighed. This kidnapping lark was getting out of hand. Last thing he remembered, Sherlock was going to drag him back to the flat and the promise of something smouldering in the kaleidoscope eyes burned brightly in his memory. He seemed to remember Sherlock leaving suddenly. Family emergency, he had said. The details of what had happened right after were fuzzier. His head was spinning a bit or maybe it was the room and the mad ramblings of the pompous jacked up arsehole kept receding in and out like an old-fashioned, badly tuned wireless.

 

“No, I’m sorry. I can’t tell you about this Sherlock person you keep blabbering about. You need a doctor, mate.”

 

A slightly out of focus picture was held up to John. He tried peering at it with his good eye. Yep. There they were. Shite and fuck. John was standing slightly to the right of Sherlock. There was a definite glow surrounding the angel, one that couldn’t be blamed on the setting sun or on Photoshop. And the air behind him was smudged. A hint of what John knew was glory and perfection, an echo of powerful wings.

 

“Oh, that angel. Yeah see, that’s just makeup and costuming. He’s an actor. Really gets into his part. Going to be on the telly.”

 

Thud

 

“Where is he?”

 

“I don’t bloody well know where he is. He didn’t tell me. He does that, runs off and leaves. I am not his bloody mother.”

 

And if that show off git didn’t get here soon and get John out of this mess whatever was building between them would never come to fruition.

 

“Sounds like you think you have the right, Doctor. To have him, to touch him. Like you think he is your friend? He is beyond you. You are a pathetic creature that should be bowing down to worship him.” The word friend was said with such insinuation, that there was more to it than simple friendship. John wished, deep down inside that that were true, that he had the right to claim Sherlock as his, but he didn’t. He probably never would.

 

 

John gave his head an experimental and gentle shake. So far nothing seemed broken up there but if this interrogation kept up, he was fairly certain he would end up with a concussion or busted nose. His head definitely hurt, as did various muscle groups.

 

“I am getting very tired, Doctor Watson. I am asking you a simple question and you seem to not understand.”

 

It couldn’t be helped. Trouble and pain would no doubt follow but he just could not stop himself.

 

He giggled.

 

This time the punch came to his side, a cruel jab to ribs already bruised from an earlier kick.

 

If the two thugs holding him up hadn’t been, he would have collapsed.

 

Yeah. Ouch. Shite. Definitely cracked in the very least. Could be broken. He wasn’t entirely sure. Hard to breathe.

 

“Not sure why you think this situation is humorous but it would behoove you to answer my questions.”

 

Dammit he did it again. If this petty criminal did not stop sounding like a bad Bond villain, he was not going to get out of this alive.

 

A large meaty hand grasped his hair by the roots and pulled his head back. It felt like his scalp would come off. He could feel the blood from his nose trickle down the back of his throat and he choked.

 

“What is so funny, Doctor Watson?”  


“You are,” he rasped. “You and your posturing. And the two-bit dialogue. You really ought to get a better writer, mate.”

 

“You’re arrogance will be your death. I’m tired of this. Kill him. We’ll get the angel another way.”

 

Another blow to the stomach. And another. The two Neanderthals holding him let him drop and he hit the cold floor. It actually felt rather nice on his swollen face. Or it would if his lungs would work properly. The feeling of relief of being able to lie down didn’t last long as he’d like. He barely had time to register the foot in front of him as it lifted and stomped down on his hand.

 

This time he screamed. He didn’t even feel the kicks that followed, one after another.

 

The room swirled faster and he decided he’d had enough. So much better to slip away and not be here anymore. The blackness waiting for him was friendly, blissfully silent and he eagerly embraced it. As he left his head, he wondered at the strange buzzing noise and the room seemed far too bright. A wave of heat washed over him and he wished whoever was shouting would stop. Then they did, but he was already beyond hearing anything.

 

oOo

 

In the soft, quiet of early morning, just before the light breaches the horizon, but after regrets have held court, Sherlock sat curled up as small as possible in a hospital chair. If it could even be called such a thing, torture devise was more like it. His wings were drawn in tight and still. Not a tremor or a whisper of movement in order to let John rest and so he could listen to the sound of John’s breath go in and out.

 

Humans were so unbelievably fragile, their existence so brief. It was unacceptable that John’s life had nearly been cut off.

 

Listening to his lungs fill was soothing. The organs responsible for pumping air, John’s lungs, had almost shut down for good. Stopped. Ceased to work.

 

Sherlock lifted a hand to his lips and played with the lower one, worrying at it. He would never admit it but he was exhausted. His need for sleep would soon overcome him and he would shortly yield. Before the Fall, he’d never needed sleep, didn’t understand it. As soon as he knew John would be all right, he’d let himself go.

 

“And how is he, brother dear?”

 

“Mycroft!” The name was spit out like a condemnation.

 

“You really must take better care of your pets.”

 

“I would suggest you leave before I do something you will regret.”

 

“Haven’t you already? It is not your place to mete out punishment whenever you deem it necessary.”

 

“No, it isn’t. That’s your job. Am I stepping on your toes?”

 

Mycroft simply sniffed.

 

“If you hadn’t called and distracted me, John wouldn’t have been kidnapped.”

 

“You were on your way to engage in carnal relations with the man. I needed to prevent you…”

 

“Prevent me?”

 

“Before you gave into sentiment, brother mine, and completely cut yourself off forever.”

 

“Go find some chocolate éclairs, Mycroft. Surely the sin of Gluttony will weigh you down as much as Lust will for me.”

 

“What you did, for him, what was done in his name, that was far more than simple Lust, Sherlock. Be careful. There is no advantage in caring. Their lives are far too brief.” He turned to go, vanish into the ether, but he paused and said quietly, “You will have to pay, you know. Yes, what they did, what they were capable of was reprehensible. Dangerous too, knowing what they did about you, but they were human and you immolated them without permission. You interfered. There will be a cost. I hope he is worth it.”

 

“He is,” Sherlock whispered into the space where Mycroft had been. So much more worthy than a Fallen.

 

A slight noise came from the hospital bed and Sherlock was by John’s side, all thoughts of his brother dismissed from his mind.

 

One eye on the swollen face was attempting to open. A groan came out of John’s mouth.

 

“Sherlock,” he slurred. “What happened?”

 

“What do you remember?”

 

“Umm, not much. They wanted something…you.”

 

“They were a cult, bent on the end of the world. Somehow they discovered what I am. Thought they could use me, my abilities. Tried to get to me, through you.”

 

John’s eye closed again and a heavy sigh blew out of his mouth. “You should leave. Danger.”

 

“You are an idiot, John.”

 

“Yeah,” and he fell back asleep.

 

Sherlock lifted an unsteady hand and gently brushed back the fringe lying on the marred forehead. Then he sat down on the floor and leaned his head back against the side of the bed. He did not leave although with the thought of the peril that he might bring down upon John, it was tempting to do so.

 

oOo

 

It was hours before John surfaced once again. This time he was a bit more coherent and aware of his surroundings. Everything hurt, from his hair to his toes. He glanced around wondering if he had been left for good when his eyes swept the still form sitting hunched beside his bed, arms wrapped tight around impossibly long legs.

 

“It never would have occurred to me that angels drool.”

 

With a start and a glare, Sherlock was awake. He stood and stretched his wings out, almost filling the small room. The air from them collapsing back ruffled John’s hair.

 

Bright eyes, the mad swirl in them slowing, as he took in John’s face, swollen and slightly unrecognizable, but grinning all the same.

 

“Hey.”

 

“John, how are you feeling?”

 

“Like I was run over by a lorry. Have you been here the whole time?” It hurt to talk but he needed to know.

 

Sherlock didn’t say anything. He raised a hand, to touch the bruised face, hesitated.

 

“May I?”

 

“Touch me? Yeah, all right.”

 

Sherlock carefully placed his fingertips on the damaged skin. “You have a concussion, two cracked ribs, a broken hand and nose, seven stitches, various contusions and minor cuts but you will recover.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For saving me.”

 

Sherlock looked down at the floor, embarrassed it seemed.

 

“John, I…”

 

“No. No, you did. Don’t you dare accept any blame for those nutters. Cult you said? I think. Last time I woke up.”

 

Sherlock nodded slowly, “But if not for me…”

 

“If not for you, I would be lost and alone.” He reached out and grabbed Sherlock’s hand, threading his own stubby fingers through the long graceful ones.

 

Sherlock looked at the hands, joined together. It seemed to stop whatever protests he had.

 

“I fooled myself, John. I thought, I thought I was just here to experience, to try things. I didn’t expect,” he swallowed, uncomfortable, a flush crept into his skin. Blushing thought John. He is blushing. “I thought I would, I mean to say…”

 

“You thought you would seduce me and leave?” A hurt that had nothing to do with his wounds filled the space inside his heart. Sherlock was too much for him, too big and perfect. He should have known better.  


“Yes, I had almost convinced myself that was true but, I realized, when I saw you there, lying on the floor, I knew I would do anything, kill anyone to save you, protect you. I think, I think I love you.”

 

It was quiet, even the sound of the machines was muted. John knew if he didn’t say what was welling up inside him, Sherlock would leave; misunderstanding what was between them, think that John hated him. He took as deep a breath as he was capable of.

 

“Maybe I have no right, maybe I shouldn’t say this to you, Sherlock but even if this is just an illusion of bliss, if this isn’t real, I might start saying things I shouldn’t if you don’t kiss me.”

 

The look of confusion of Sherlock’s face was beautiful and priceless. “I thought you’d want me to go.”

 

“Oh Sherlock, no. I’m not good at this. I’m really not, but if you leave, if you go, I will become less. You’ve released me to be this, this person I am now.” He squeezed his hand and tugged on it, pulled Sherlock toward him.

 

Sherlock leaned in and first placed a chaste kiss on John’s forehead. He then closed his eyes and gently brushed the swollen mouth. John, sore as he was, tired and heavily medicated, could not respond as he would have liked but he did let his tongue come out and lightly lick at Sherlock’s lips until they parted and he drew in John’s tongue.

 

A low, slow groan built between them. There was nothing now to stop them. When John was able, when he could come home, Sherlock would take him to bed and slowly explore every inch of this remarkable being, make him see he was the most important thing in the universe.

 

They parted the kiss and Sherlock put his head down into the crook of John’s neck. He breathed in the scent of him. Deep serenity filled him. Here at last was a peace he knew he’d never find anywhere else.


End file.
